


Masks

by JohnOfMars



Category: Gideon the Ninth - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:29:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22281880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnOfMars/pseuds/JohnOfMars
Summary: Gideon can't paint her face worth a damn, but maybe there’s another option?
Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	Masks

"Where are you taking me? Oooh, is this your boudoir?"

"Griddle, no. Where did you even learn that word?"

The Reverend Daughter had led her new Cavalier into the Royal Quarters. Buried deep into the stone of the Drearburgh, it could have been a crypt, but instead it was warm and draped in soft cloth. They stopped in the Reverend Mother's dressing room. Harrowhark Nonagesimus paused before an armoire as tall as she was. She started to pull out a wide drawer when Gideon interrupted "Ohhhh, is this where your keep your toys?" 

"Griddle!" snarled Harrowhark, with enough intensity that the bones in her necklace rattled.

The Reverend Daughter pulled the drawer entirely out and presented it to Gideon Nav. The drawer alone was the richest thing that Gideon had ever seen. Real wood frame and deep emerald velvet. It obviously pre-dated the entire Ninth colony. On the velvet was not jewelry, but four masks. Harrow shifted awkwardly, with the weight of the drawer and what she was here for.

She sat on her knees and placed the drawer in front of her. There was nowhere else to sit and the carpet here was thick. Gideon settled down too, curious, as to what was about to happen.

Harrow looked at the masks and said "I know you hate the Ninth. I know you hate this place. And you probably hate me. But you're going to be my cavalier. You're shit at your face painting and... I remembered these."

Harrow braved making eye contact, but Gideon was looking at the masks instead. The first mask was a simple black domino with the finest silver filigrees. The most ornate was a stunning porcelain full face of a skull. It was detailed enough to be a necromancer's crafted bonework, but instead, impossibly, it was ceramic. Brushing her fingers across it, Gideon felt it cool and incredibly smooth. She slid her fingers through the lace loops of the mask, entranced. She was sure she would break it by simply picking it up. Next to it was another full-face mask, but it was fabric. The entire front of it was beaded in what was definitely bone. Tiny tar and bleach stained beads made the pattern of a whirling, feverish skull and sinister jaw. Lastly, was a half-face mask, no, a veil, that would cover Gideon's nose & mouth. It was finely stitched, but with clean simple lines of a jaw with **IX** monograming. It was fitting for the mistress of the reserved nuns of the Ninth, and it was something Gideon could fight in.

Harrow took the veil in her hands and said "I need you, Gideon Nav," and after a hitch, "as my cavalier. You have worked hard and you have earned this." Gideon started to take the mask, but Harrow was already up on her knees, leaning forward. As Harrow placed the veil on Gideon, they both realized it was the closest they'd ever been without violence. When she was done, Harrow's hand came back along Gideon's face and slipped under the veil.

Gideon sat fixed, still as a statue, before softening against this closeness. She turned her head slowly and kissed Harrow’s delicate hand.

Gideon raised her hands to her face, but this time Harrow interrupted. “Don’t. Leave it on.”


End file.
